


Impossible Landscape

by llamajo



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Episode Related, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, starts at the beginning of season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llamajo/pseuds/llamajo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl's heat comes early.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [building_a_desert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/building_a_desert/gifts).



> building_a_desert mentioned it was her birthday today on tumblr, and while she was probably joking about gifts, I decided to write this for her anyway. So, happy birthday! I hope you like it! 
> 
> Also, I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are mine. I apologize in advance for my blatant misuse of commas; I just can't help myself.

Life at the prison has been going well since Woodbury. Rick had his doubts about bringing the new people into the fold, but it has been better than he expected. There’s a council now, and Rick’s not a part of it, though his group still discusses their decisions with him even though Rick doesn't ask them to. Everyone has their jobs; most often it’s Daryl and Michonne who go out on runs, sometimes larger groups too. Beth takes care of Judith. Others have their own chores to do. Most importantly, everyone helps to keep the fences secure from the nearly constant danger of walkers getting through.

Rick, though, spends most of his time farming with Carl. When Hershel suggested farming, Rick was skeptical. He didn't think he would like it at all, but he was wrong. He finds a deep satisfaction in planting something and helping it grow; likes to see his people eating the fruits of his labor.

It’s quiet when he’s farming, Carl a silent worker by his side. He’s even started drowning out the constant drone of the walkers. It’s almost… peaceful. He thinks a lot; about the prison, about his new family, about Carl, and ways to make him smile. He thinks about Judith, about who she’ll be when she gets older. Maybe she’ll be a beta, like her mother, or maybe an omega, like Carl. Hell, maybe she’ll be an alpha, like him. There’s no way to tell, really. He’ll have to wait and see when she’s older (and he’s determined that he will see it, and Carl will too, no matter what).

Carl presented as an omega when he was eleven, a few months before the world ended. At first Rick was worried. As an officer, he’d heard all the stories about omegas being taken advantage of, of being helpless during their heats, having no power to deny the alphas and betas alike that were drawn by their delectable omega scent… Even before the world ended Rick knew he would protect his son from anyone who tried to hurt him, and that is one thing that hasn't changed.

Sometimes Rick worries about what he’s going to do when Carl gets old enough to have his heats. However, he isn’t too concerned yet since Carl is only thirteen (more or less; Rick lost track of how many days had passed a long time ago) and omegas are known to have heats in their later teenage years when their bodies are more developed.

At least, that’s what he thought.

…

Something was wrong.

Even in sleep Rick could sense that there was something distinctly different about his surroundings, how all of a sudden he was enveloped by a scent that he has never smelled before - one that he would be happy to smell all the time for the rest of his life.

Rick is awake now, can feel his mouth watering, and he opens his eyes to locate the origin of that heavenly scent, already leaning towards it, wanting to be closer. He stops short when he sees that it’s Carl.

“Dad,” Carl whispers, his voice breathy, “Something’s wrong with me, I don’t know what’s happening.” His cheeks are flushed bright red, his hair is damp on his head, and tears are shining in his eyes.

Rick can’t say anything for a moment; he’s overwhelmed not only by the fact that his _much too young to be in heat_ son is in heat, but also because the reason why he’s rock hard in his boxers is because of his son.

“It’s gonna be all right, Carl,” he says finally, taking shallow breaths through his mouth. He needs to get his shit together; he needs to protect his son.

Ignoring his erection, and hoping Carl doesn't notice it, Rick quickly puts on a pair of jeans. He doesn’t bother with socks and shoes, just takes Carl by the hand and leads him out into the hallway. He needs to find a secure place where they can get through this.

He keeps Carl close behind him as they walk past the other cells. He can hear his family waking up, the smell of Carl drawing them out of their beds. He doesn't look at them, doesn't want to see the looks of want on their faces.

They’re heading towards the warden’s office; there’s an old couch there that they can set up on, and Rick can watch the door. They have to walk past the other cell blocks to get there, and people are already crowded in the hallway. Their eyes are glazed and one man reaches out to touch Carl’s neck. Rick growls at him threateningly and turns around to pick Carl up by his armpits like he used to do when Carl was younger. Carl doesn't protest, just wraps his arms around Rick’s neck and his legs around Rick’s waist and lets himself be carried.

Carl is hot to the touch and Rick can feel Carl’s little cock pulsing against his abdomen, already hard. Carl rubs himself against Rick mindlessly, quiet moans and whimpers falling from his mouth, and Rick shivers, his spine tingling, when Carl starts mouthing at his neck.   

They finally reach the warden’s office. Rick hurries inside and gently lowers Carl onto the old couch on the far side of the room. Carl lets himself be detangled from Rick but whimpers at the loss of contact.

“It hurts, dad,” Carl says, his face scrunched up in pain. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re in heat, son,” Rick says, “But we’ll get through it as best as we can, and then we’ll start you on some suppressants. We can borrow some from Beth and then run out and get some more.”

Carl nods but Rick is mostly talking just to distract himself from Carl’s scent and from the sight of that pink flush of heat that travels all the way down his neck and disappears under his shirt.

“We can’t put you on suppressants now; they only work to prevent heats, not to stop them when they've already started. So we’ll just get through it,” Rick repeats himself. He wants more than anything to touch Carl all over, to give him everything he needs as an alpha should, but he can’t. He shouldn't.  

He starts to back away towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Carl asks. “Don’t go! I don’t know what to do!” He’s squirming around on the couch, a few tears slipping down his cheeks, and Rick swears under his breath.

Carl is too young. He’s _too young_ and he hasn't had any real education about his heats and he’s suffering and Rick doesn't know what to do. He knows he could go find another alpha that could take care of Carl, but the thought makes him want to howl and claw the hypothetical alpha to shreds. But as Carl’s father, Rick will do whatever is best for his son.

“I could go and find another alpha…” Rick doesn't even finish his question before Carl is protesting:

“No! I don’t feel safe with anyone else! Please, dad, please, I don’t want anyone else. Please don’t leave.”

“All right, Carl,” Rick says. He locks the door to the office and makes his way back over to his son. He’s heady with pleasure at Carl’s words, that Carl only wants him and no one else, that Carl is his to take care of and no other alpha is going to touch him.   

Rick kneels on the floor next to Carl, who looks at him imploringly, waiting for instruction, waiting for his dad to tell him what to do, how to make it better. There’s so much trust in that look; Rick will do anything to not betray that trust, he’ll do anything to make Carl feel better, he’ll do anything that Carl needs.

“Let’s get your jeans off first,” Rick says. Carl unbuttons them with shaky fingers and Rick helps pull them down and off his legs.

“Underwear, too,” Rick says after a moment, carefully averting his eyes and letting Carl take them off by himself. The smell of Carl in the room becomes so pungent that Rick is dizzy from it, lost. He’s only brought back to himself when he hears a distressed whine from Carl.

Rick has to clear his throat before he can speak. “Turn on your side, and reach down in between your legs. Are you wet?”

Carl complies, turning his body towards Rick, and nods.

“That’s good,” Rick says in a voice that’s as soothing as he can manage. “Try putting your finger in there, it’ll make it feel better.”

A moment later Carl whines again, his body twitching.

“Are you okay, Carl?” Rick asks.

“Yeah,” Carl sighs, “Feels good, daddy.”

“Good,” Rick says, trying to ignore his own reaction to the boy’s words and to the knowledge of what he’s doing to himself. He’s still keeping his eyes averted, focusing solely on Carl’s face.

“Try adding more fingers,” Rick tells him. He reaches out to push Carl’s damp hair off of his forehead. Carl sighs and pushes his cheek into Rick’s palm, closing his eyes as his body arches slightly off the couch. Rick moves his hand down to caress Carl’s neck in the sign of affection he often uses towards the boy, and when Rick’s hand is on the nape of his neck Carl cries out and comes on his own abdomen, his cock untouched. Carl relaxes into the couch and Rick carefully removes his hand.

Carl continues his ministrations and Rick uses every single ounce of willpower he has to stay where he is, unmoving.  

Rick doesn't have a good concept of time at the moment, but it seems like seconds later that Carl’s expression becomes frustrated again, and he starts to whine. His movements become jerky and his face is scrunched up in pain.

“Something’s wrong with me,” he sobs, “It doesn’t feel good anymore. I can’t - it hurts. Why does it hurt so much?”

Rick hates seeing Carl in pain, but he doesn’t know what he should do. The worst part is that he knows what he could do to make Carl feel better, to make him feel better than he’s ever felt in his life. He knows that he could fuck Carl, that Carl would allow him to, would take his knot like a good little omega, but Rick also knows that Carl isn't in the right mindset to choose at the moment, and he doesn’t want to do something that Carl would regret later. He doesn't want to ruin their relationship.

Rick knows that he has to do something, though, and when Carl starts crying again Rick gathers the boy into his arms and sits with him on the saturated couch, careful to keep his own erection away from Carl. Carl’s t-shirt is damp with sweat and tears but Rick pays it no mind.

“It’s all right, Carl,” Rick reassures him, “I’m right here.”

“Dad,” Carl whines, his frustration palpable. He pushes his face into Rick’s neck and takes a deep breath. “I can’t do it anymore, dad, it’s not enough -”

“Try going a little slower, Carl. Try to find that place inside that feels good.” Rick knows it’s stupid advice, but he’s getting desperate. It’s not like he has any toys that Carl can use.

“I need more, dad, please…” Carl says, “My wrist hurts, I can’t do it anymore,” and then he grabs Rick’s hand with his slick-covered fingers and Rick pulls away before he can think about it.

“Please, dad,” Carl sobs, “Please, please, make it better…”

And how could Rick possibly say no? His own convictions started crumbling long before this point in Carl’s heat, and if he’s honest with himself, his convictions nowadays are slightly dubious anyways...

Rick finally, finally, allows himself to look at the lower half of Carl’s body, at his cock straining against his stomach, hard again and leaking. He allows Carl to guide his hand down to the core of him, where it’s hot and wet and tight, clenching muscle.

Rick breaches his son’s entrance gently, just one finger at first and then two. He rubs his fingers along Carl’s inner walls, against the nerves on his rim. Carl moans incoherent words and grips the front of Rick’s shirt, spreading his slick all over it.

“Is this all right, Carl?” Rick asks.

“Yes, feels so good, dad, don’t stop.”

Rick stretches out his fingers, trying to reach deeper inside to find that bundle of nerves that will make Carl see stars. With his other hand he reaches around to rub Carl’s cock and Carl comes for a second time, his seed shooting onto his own chest and dripping on Rick’s hand.

Rick stops moving his fingers, not wanting to overstimulate Carl, but Carl starts moving his hips and says, “Don’t stop, dad, feels so good.”

He sounds completely punch drunk and he’s already getting hard again, and Rick is starting to worry. Are heats supposed to last this long? He feels like they've been at it for hours, though it probably hasn't been that long at all. Still, he doesn't know how much more of this he can take, of Carl spread out in his arms, wanton and unashamed of his desires, making the most exquisite sounds and smelling so ripe, so perfect that it makes Rick ache, and maybe he’s in heat too because he feels crazy with it, ravenous.

Still he searches gently for that little bundle of nerves within Carl, always being mindful of Carl’s needs before his own, and when he finally finds it he’s rewarded with a strangled moan from Carl, a hissed _yesssss_ between clenched teeth and an expression of pleasure on his face so intense Rick might have thought he was in pain if not for his other signs of pleasure.

Carl’s fingers are gripping Rick’s arms, probably leaving bruises, but Rick doesn’t care. He rubs against Carl’s prostate relentlessly and milks Carl’s third orgasm out of him, Carl’s whole body going taught and his come merely pearling at the top of his twitching cock, all spent up.

Then Carl whines, says, “Too much, daddy,” and Rick pulls his fingers out. He gently cradles Carl’s limp form against his chest. He wants to give Carl words of comfort, but he doesn't know what to say.

Carl rests his head against Rick’s shoulder until his breathing slows down. Then he looks up at Rick cautiously from under his eyelashes, and Rick’s heart pounds in apprehension, but Carl merely says, “Thank you, dad,” and then buries his face in Rick’s neck. The tips of Carl’s ears are pink, but that might just be residual from the flush that covered his body moments before.

Carl falls asleep within the next few moments, and Rick softly kisses his temple. Soon he’ll get up and use his shirt to clean Carl as best as he can. He’ll re-dress Carl, and carry him back to his cell and tuck him into his bed. He’ll check on Judith. He’ll ignore any looks that he’s given when he walks by his family smelling like sex and Carl. He’ll say he did what was necessary. He’ll go to the shower room to wash himself, and he’ll jerk off guiltily to the memory of his son’s body against his, the memory of his scent and his voice, and when he’s done he’ll stand under the spray and wonder if their relationship will ever be the same again, and if he wants it to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I decided to continue! This story is now officially a WIP. Thank you to everyone for all of your positive feedback, I appreciate it! I hope that you all like this next chapter - I had a little bit of trouble writing it only because I'm not quite sure where exactly I want to take this yet, so if anyone has any suggestions I'm definitely open! Also, as you'll soon read, I used some quotes from the show, and so I thought it would be good to mention that the credit is not mine. 
> 
> Also, Tennex beta'ed this chapter for me, and I think that with her help it has definitely been improved, so that's awesome. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!~

They don’t talk about it. No one does; at least not where Carl can hear. Carl wonders what they all think. He knows that he woke up in his bed the morning after, dry but smelling of his own sex and of his father - a mixture that brings Carl more pleasure than it probably should. He sees the judgmental looks the others send Rick, and the curious ones they send him when they think he isn't watching. But no one asks about it; maybe at Rick’s command or maybe because they’re scared to know, or because they just don’t want to.

Carl kind of wishes that they would ask. If they did he would tell them about the ache he felt deep inside himself; how he _needed_ his father to help him. He would tell them how he begged for it (something he remembers with only a little bit of shame), and how he felt completely safe in his father’s arms. He wouldn't tell them how _good_ it felt when Rick touched him, because that he wants to keep to himself, but he would tell them that even though it was an unexpected experience, he doesn't regret it, because even during the worst moments he knew that his father, his alpha, would take care of him.

But Carl doesn't say any of these things. He doesn't think they would understand anyway, and soon enough life goes on as normal. Carl is taking suppressants now; just the generic kind that Beth uses which is tailored for all omegas. It’s the most common type of suppressant - the one most easily found in abandoned grocery store pharmacies - so they have a rather large supply.

Carl continues his chores around the prison; he does his fair share of laundry, and helps his father with the farming. He’s still not allowed to help clear the fences but he’s been working on that. His relationship with his father isn't exactly as it was before, but Carl thinks that’s okay. At first they were both a little awkward with each other, not quite sure where the other stood, but when Carl asked, Rick assured him that he wasn't angry or disgusted, and that what happened absolutely was not Carl’s fault. These words helped to ease Carl’s worries, and eventually things went back to normal.

Well, sort of back to normal.

Whenever Rick caresses his neck Carl remembers when he did the same thing during his heat, and a tingle spreads down along his spine and makes the hair stand up on his arms and on the back of his neck; makes him catch his breath. He wonders if his dad can smell the effect the gesture has on him, how it makes him hot; even if he does, he doesn't stop.

And sometimes Carl will go to the warden’s office - a place that has been avoided by most people - and he’ll push his nose into the couch cushions and breathe in the scent of him and his father there, where the scent is buried so deep it still smells potent even a week after.

It’s like his heat has opened up his whole realm of sexuality. Before the heat he sometimes thought about sex, about what it would feel like, but it was only in general terms based off of what he knew, which was not a lot.

Before his heat he had never been touched so intimately, and he still has never been kissed, which is weird to think about, and also definitely something he wants to experience in the near future - with one person in particular.

He touches himself now; not because of a heat but because of plain old sexual _desire_ , and when he does he thinks about his father. He just can’t help himself. He tries to think of a faceless person, to think of someone neutral, but it always comes back to his dad; how his dad touched him so gently but with assurance, how his voice whispered words of encouragement in his ear, of how good it felt when his father's fingers were _inside_ of him. He tries to mimic the way Rick touched him, but his own fingers don't feel nearly as good.

In the privacy of his own mind Carl thinks of his heat, except in his mind he’s not helpless and confused. In his mind he reciprocates for his father. He wants to make his dad feel good; he wants to see what he looks like when he comes. He wants to feel his dad’s cock in his hand. He bets it’s big and thick; that he wouldn't be able to fit his mouth around it even if he tried, and that thought gets him _hot_ , and he doesn't even know why; he just knows that he loves his father and wants him to feel good, and he wants to be the cause of that pleasure.

After he’s lax and sated from his orgasm he lets himself think about what it would be like to kiss his father, to feel the man’s lips against his own. He thinks about it a lot, about how his dad’s beard would feel against his skin, how it would rub his skin red so that everyone could see what they were doing. He thinks he would like that, even if it was scratchy.

He finds himself looking at his father’s lips now when they’re together; how they move when he talks and how they look stretched out in a smile in front of his straight, white teeth. He tries not to be obvious about it, and he knows he’s probably failing, but he can’t stop (and doesn't want to, no matter what the logical part of himself thinks).  

He knows that he has to hide these feelings because to share them with Rick would mean a complete changing of their relationship, and not in a good way. Carl is almost one hundred percent certain that Rick doesn't feel the same way about him.

This is, of course, not only because Carl is Rick’s _son_ , but also because Rick is adamant that Carl takes suppressants. He watches carefully as Carl takes them every evening with dinner. He doesn't want Carl to go into heat again, and he shows no signs that the experience affected him in a sexual way - at least none that Carl can see. Rick helped him through it because he’s a good father, and nothing more. Carl knows this, and he's content to keep his current relationship with his father. He doesn't want to mess things up with his unwanted advances.

...

About two weeks after his heat Carl wakes up in his bed with the sun shining brightly on his face. Disgruntled, he stumbles out of bed and almost slips on the comic book he was reading the night before which had fallen on the floor sometime in his sleep. He grumbles quietly to himself as he gets dressed and heads to the bathroom. He picks up his toothbrush from the array sitting on the bathroom counter and applies some toothpaste from the tube his family shares. He used to dislike brushing his teeth, found it annoying and cumbersome, but now he’s glad he can; not only because it feels good to have a clean mouth, but also because having the supplies to brush his teeth implies that their group is stable. Well, that’s how he thinks about it, at least.

When he's done getting ready he grabs a stale poptart from the makeshift kitchen for breakfast. It’s cinnamon flavored which is not his favorite but he won’t complain. It’s definitely better than dog food - not that he’d ever actually tried it, since Rick wouldn't let them. That time on the run, after the farm, feels like a lifetime ago. So much has happened since then. Carl shakes his head, washes the poptart down with some water. There’s no point to reminiscing. Before he goes outside he looks for Judith. She’s with Beth, who gives him a tentative smile. A while ago Carl would have been happy to receive a smile from Beth, but now he doesn't feel anything other than the affection he holds for everyone in his makeshift family. Plus, Beth is with that Zach guy now. Carl finds he’s not torn up about it.

“Morning,” he greets them, and leans down to kiss Judith on the forehead. She blinks up at him with her big blue eyes, a sight that never fails to put a smile on his face.

It’s bright when he finally goes outside, the sun high in the sky. He finds his father working in the pig pen. “You didn't wake me up,” he says by way of greeting.

“‘Cause I knew you were up all night reading comics with a flashlight.”

Carl smiles to himself. He hardly ever notices when his dad checks in on him, but the thought of it makes him feel warm. They lean against the fence of the pig pen together and Carl notices one of the female pigs is laying in the mud, not moving. “What’s up with Violet?” he asks, not thinking.

“Carl, I told you not to name them. They’re not piglets anymore, they’re food.”

Carl looks at his feet, and then back up. “I just thought, you know, until…” his did gives him an exasperated look. “Okay,” Carl agrees, feeling childish. He hates feeling like a child, especially in front of his father.

Rick breaks the silence: “I don’t know what’s going on with her. She’s sick; could be nothing.” He makes the noise they use to call the pigs to them, but she doesn't move. “Feel better, Violet,” Rick says, and he turns to Carl and smiles, those lips stretching out over his straight, white teeth. Carl smiles back; not so much because Rick called her Violet, but mostly because Carl knows his father is trying to make him happy, and he appreciates the effort.

“Come on, let’s get to it.”

Carl follows his father to the shed where they grab their farming tools, most of them old, scavenged from nearby houses, but they work just fine. They head out to the vegetable patch. They've got soil to turn, and Rick tells him he plans on setting up a new patch for some cucumber seeds that Glenn brought back from the last run. It’s laborious work but the two of them have a system by now, and though Carl is against it Rick does most of the strenuous labor. It’s well after noon by the time they've got the seeds planted. Carl’s stomach growls loudly.  

“Go get some lunch,” Rick tells him, chuckling quietly. “I’ll go start checking the tomatoes.”

Carl agrees, and brings back some meat for his dad. Who knows when the man would eat otherwise. When Rick sees that Carl has brought back some meat for him he gestures for Carl to feed him since his own hands are covered in mud. Carl’s heart pounds in his chest as he carefully reaches out to place a piece of the meat in his father’s mouth. The tips of his fingers touch Rick’s lips and he suddenly feels very hot under the collar. He hopes his father doesn't notice. He waits until Rick is done chewing and offers him another piece. He watches intently as his father takes the meat into his mouth. His mind is spinning at the amount of trust his alpha is showing him; that he’s letting Carl hand-feed him. Carl gives Rick the last piece and he gasps when his father’s tongue accidentally touches the tips of his fingers. He pulls his hand back and looks at it as his father chews. He can see the wetness there, from his father's tongue, and he has the strangest urge to put his fingers in his mouth to suck it off, to taste that wetness. He shakes his head to try and clear his thoughts, berating himself. He can feel his father's heavy gaze on him, knows that the man can definitely smell him now, but thankfully he doesn't say anything about it.

They continue working, and Rick goes to get Hershel when he sees some of the leaves of their crop are dying. Carl watches as Hershel explains the finer points of farming to his father. His head snaps up when they hear the whistle signaling Michonne’s return.

Rick says, “Let’s go!” They run down to the entrance of the prison to let Michonne in. It always amazes Carl how strong Michonne is. She leaves, but she always comes back. If anyone can survive this apocalypse, it’s her.

“We’re glad to see you,” Rick tells her once the gates are closed.

“Glad to see you, too,” she tells Rick, and then turns to Carl. “Somebody hit the jackpot,” she smiles brightly and hands Carl a stack of comic books.

“No way,” he says, taking them from her, “ _Awesome_. Thank you!”  

“I get to read ‘em when you’re done,” she tells him, which makes Carl smile even brighter.

Michonne turns to Rick, who had been smiling at the exchange, “And I found this.” She hands Rick a razor and Carl holds back a laugh at his dad’s expression as he takes it. “Your face is losing the war,” Michonne tells him. Carl chuckles as he starts to lead Flower back to the stables. He feels kind of stupid thinking of a horse as “Flower,” but Patrick named her and it stuck. He sets his comic books down, thinking that his dad’s beard is the longest he’s ever seen it, but he likes it. Maybe he’ll have to hide his dad’s new razor…

Carl stops with Flower when Daryl and the others come down to the entrance.

“Well, looks who’s back,” Daryl says. He turns off his motorcycle.

“Didn't find him,” Michonne replies. Carl knows they’re talking about the Governor; a man he’s heard about but has never seen.

“Glad to see you’re in one piece,” the beta says, glancing to Rick for reassurance. They all know Rick doesn't approve of Michonne searching for the Governor, though he doesn't say it outright.

“I’m thinking of looking over near Macon.” Carl can’t see his father’s face from where he’s standing but it must be disapproving because Michonne says, “It’s worth a shot.”

“Seventy miles of walkers. You might run into a few unneighborly types. Is it?” Daryl asks her.

Michonne has nothing to say in reply.

Daryl turns to Rick. “I’m gonna go check out the big spot, the one I was talkin’ about, just seein’.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go check the snares,” Rick replies, “I don’t want to lose whatever we catch to the walkers.”

“I’ll go,” Michonne offers.

“You just got here!” Carl says.

“And I’ll be back,” she replies. Carl doesn't doubt that at all, but still. It would be nice if she’d stay a while. Carl continues to lead Flower back to the stables when Daryl and the others leave. He has just finished removing her saddle when his father finds him.

“Going to check the snares?” he asks. Maybe his dad will let him come too.

“I am. You’re not,” Rick replies. Well, there goes that idea. “Do your chores. Read comics, maybe some books, too. Hang out with Patrick.” Carl nods. “Maybe go to story time.”

“Dad, that’s for kids,” Carl says.

“Yeah,” Rick agrees, giving him a significant look. Carl sighs, but doesn't argue.

“Now brush her down.” He gives Flower a kiss and leaves to check the snares. Carl goes into the stables to fetch the curry brush. Once he’s finished he picks up the stack of comics he had left on the grass near the entrance and goes to put them away in his cell. He contemplates starting to read the next one but decides to find Patrick instead. He grabs their soccer ball on the way. He’s getting pretty good at it.

He finds Patrick standing outside by himself, watching the fences.

“Hey,” Carl says in greeting. Patrick turns to look at him.

“Hello, young sir,” he says. He smiles, pushing his glasses further up his nose.  

The title still makes Carl smile. “What are you doing?” he asks. Patrick turns back to the fences and gestures to a spot where four kids from Woodbury are standing. Carl can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but he can see that they’re waving at the walkers.

“Let’s go,” he says, and Patrick obediently follows him down. Sometimes Carl is really surprised that Patrick is a beta since he always goes along with everything. But, Carl supposes, everyone is different.

The kids from Woodbury are laughing. “Nick! Hi, Nick!”

“You’re _naming_ them?” Carl asks incredulously. He and Patrick named the animals, but that’s completely different. Pigs and horses don’t try to kill them!

“Well, one of them has a name tag, so we thought all of them should,” Mika says, shrugging.

“They had names when they were alive, they’re dead now,” Carl says, quite reasonably, he thinks.

“No they’re not. They’re just different,” Lizzie says.

“The _hell_ are you talking about?” Is she serious? “Okay - they don’t talk, they don’t think. They eat people. They kill people.”

“People kill people. They still have names,” Lizzie says.

Carl can’t believe this. “Have you seen what happens? Have you seen someone die like that?”

“Yeah. I have,” she says.

Carl wants to yell at her; he could argue with her all day about how the walkers are nothing but monsters; about how they’re not deserving of names or anything except to be killed, but he just says, “They’re not people, or pets. Don’t name them.” He keeps his gaze firm, daring her to argue back.

Lizzie looks away. “We’re supposed to go read. Come on,” the two younger kids from Woodbury follow her up to the prison.

Mika turns to Patrick. “You comin’ to story time today?”

“Uhh,”  Patrick turns to look at Carl, and then away. “Yeah.”

“See you then!” Mika says before she runs off.

Carl gives Patrick a look, but he can’t help the smile that forms on his face.

“I go sometimes,” Patrick says, “I’m immature.” Carl looks at his feet. He can still remember when Patrick was playing with the legos that his father had brought back for him.

“You wouldn't dig it,” Patrick tells him, “It’s for kids.”

Carl doesn't know why, but these words wipe the smile from his face. But why should they? He’s the one who’s been insisting he’s not a kid anymore. Still, he doesn't like it.

“I’m gonna head up there, too.” Carl looks back up. “I’ll catch you later, young sir.”

Carl tries to give him a smile and probably fails. “Yep,” he says to Patrick’s retreating form. So much for playing soccer.

Carl kicks the ball around lethargically. He thinks about his dad out there checking the snares, about what he said, and he decides he’ll go to story time. He tells himself it’s not because his alpha told him to, but only because he doesn't have anything better to do, and maybe he’s a little curious, too.

Story time was Carol’s idea. They were all somewhat surprised to find the room full of books near the offices and visiting room. They had no use for it until the people from Woodbury came, and Carol thought it would be good to read to the kids. Carl has never been to story time, but he knows where the room is, and he waits outside quietly; Carol has already started reading.

Should he just go in? Would they think it was weird that he came? He decides to sneak in. No one will be the wiser. He hides behind a bookshelf and listens as Carol reads. Not even a minute after he gets there Carol stops and closes the book. Carl sneaks a peek through the bookshelf and sees that Lizzie and Mika’s father has left. He moves around the bookcase to get a better look.

One of the kids from Woodbury, Luke, goes to the door to “take watch”. What the hell is going on?

Carl watches as Carol opens the chest she was sitting on and takes out a tray full of knives.

“Today, we are talking about knives. How to use them, how to be safe with them, and how they could save your life,” she says.  

What? Carl watches as Patrick leaves and then gets up from his hiding spot. He doesn't understand. They’re supposed to be reading stories!

Carol’s face falls when she sees him. “Please,” she says, “Don’t tell your father.”

Carl stares, a whirlwind of emotions coursing through him, and he leaves without looking back. He doesn't know what he’s going to do, but he can’t be there anymore. He can’t believe it. Everyone thinks that Carol is reading to the kids, but instead she’s teaching them about weapons? What else has she taught them? How dare Carol do this behind everyone’s back, behind his father’s back? Deliberately hiding it from him? And she wants Carl to hide it, too. She wants Carl to lie to his _alpha_.

Another part of him is hurt. They've been tricking him this whole time; convincing him not to come to story time because he “wouldn't dig it” as Patrick said, because “It’s for kids.” Carl scoffs bitterly. This isn't kid stuff! This is serious, and those _kids_ are not old enough to handle weapons! They _are_ right, Carl _doesn't_ belong there, because he already knows how to protect himself.

Carl finally gets to his cell and falls face down on his bed. He lays there for a moment, trying to understand. Once the initial emotions have faded away and he’s calmed down a bit, he begins to see why Carol is doing it. There’s always a chance that the prison could be compromised, and the kids should know how to defend themselves. He just doesn't like that they’re doing it in secret, and he doesn't want to lie to his dad, even if it’s just lying by omission. It just doesn't feel right.

Carl decides to read one of his new comics until it’s time for dinner, and tries not to think about it, but it’s not easy. A lot of stuff happened today. Out of all of it, Carl’s thoughts keep coming back to that moment in the field when his father ate from his hand. He remembers how soft his father's lips were, and how he looked into Carl’s eyes as he carefully took each bite into his mouth, his teeth so close to Carl’s fingers. Carl starts to feel flushed thinking about it again, his comic book forgotten on his chest.

The next moment the sheet in front of his cell is pulled back and his father looks in on him, says, “Time to eat,” and Carl flushes guiltily. He hurriedly puts his comic book away and jerkily moves past his father out into the hall. Rick gives him a bemused look.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Carl says, composing himself. He doesn't have anything to worry about; his father can’t read minds. And if he smells Carl’s arousal still, he’ll think that Carl was thinking about someone else. Why wouldn't he? It’s plausible. It could happen. There are others at the prison that Carl could be with, that he could want.

Rick nods and they head outside to go eat. On the way there he places his hand on the back of Carl’s neck; not guiding, but just to show affection, and the knot in Carl’s stomach starts to loosen as he leans into the touch. Carl knows he’s lying to himself when he thinks that he could want someone other than his father. He knows he doesn't, not when just a simple touch from the alpha makes him feel so safe and loved; makes his body feel alive.

Carl smiles up at his father for a moment, moves in closer to his side. He knows he’s being obvious; he sees the looks that the others give them when they walk in together like that, but in that moment he doesn't care. In that moment everything is good, and he eats dinner with his family with his father by his side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is finally here! Thank you again to everyone for reading and leaving me comments and kudos, they are very appreciated! I hope you all like the next chapter! :3
> 
> Also, this chapter was again beta'ed by Tennex. Thank you, Tennex!

Carl notices that Patrick isn't at dinner. Once everyone is done eating and the tables have been cleaned up Carl goes to find him. He’s not angry at Patrick or anything, he just wants to talk. He looks for Patrick in all of his normal hang out spots, and eventually finds him in his cell. He’s lying down on his bed, and Carl grips the bowl of rice and meat he brought for Patrick tightly in his hand when he gets a better look at his friend.  

His face is covered in sweat and his shirt is soaked through. Carl’s first thought is that Patrick is in heat, and he starts to back out of the cell. He likes Patrick, but only as a friend, and he can’t handle _that_ , so he’s about to go and get someone (someone other than his father this time, because the thought of his dad helping someone else through a heat fills him with jealousy), but then he stops. He looks back into Patrick’s cell. Patrick’s not moving at all, and when Carl had his heat he couldn't _stop_  moving. Also, Patrick is a beta, and Carl has never heard of a beta going into heat before.

Carl slowly re-enters the cell and moves closer to Patrick. “Patrick?” he asks carefully. The beta looks bad; really, really bad. Carl might have thought that Patrick has the Fever, but there’s no way that Patrick has been bit, so it can’t be that.

“Patrick,” he tries again, a bit louder, “I brought you some food; you should eat something.”

“Not hungry,” Patrick mumbles. “Don’t feel good. Jus’ gonna sleep.” The words are just the barest of whispers; quiet and weak. Patrick doesn't even open his eyes.

“Okay,” Carl says, standing awkwardly by Patrick’s bedside. “Umm… I just wanted to tell you that I’m not angry at you for not telling me about story time. I think it’s good that you want to learn how to protect yourself.” He stands there for a moment longer, but Patrick doesn't reply.

“All right, well… See you tomorrow, then.” He leaves the bowl of food on Patrick’s side table.

Maybe he’ll be hungry in the morning.

…

“Carl.”

No, he doesn't want to get up yet, he was having such a good dream…

“Carl.”

He opens his eyes and turns over to look at his father.

“Come on,” Rick says quietly. Carl gets out of bed once the curtain is closed. He doesn't even remember what his dream was about anymore. He sighs and starts to get ready for another day of farming.

“How’d you sleep?” Rick asks Carl on their way to the tool shed.

Carl shrugs. “Fine.”  

They each grab a metal bucket for mulching before heading out to their garden. On the way there they meet Michonne. She has their other horse, Pegasus, (again named by Patrick) all saddled up.

“Be careful out there,” Rick says.

“I always am,” she replies. She leads Pegasus towards the entrance. Carl could ask her to stay, but he knows it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

“Any requests?” she asks, “Books, comics, some stale m and m’s?”

“You’re the one who likes stale m and m’s,” Carl chuckles, looking back at her.

“And I’ll definitely be lookin’ for some. I’ll look for some stuff you like, too.”

Carl smiles.

“Why don’t you wear your hat anymore?” She asks him a moment later.

“It’s not a farming hat.” He looks back at her. “See you soon?”

“Pretty soon.”

Good enough. He turns back around and catches up to his father, who is smiling at nothing.

Carl is curious. “What are you smiling about?” he asks.

“You,” Rick says.

Carl blushes the whole way out to the vegetable patch.

They check over the plants quickly and head out to the far fields of the prison to collect cud for the pigs. Carl holds the bucket while his father picks up handfuls of thick dirt, grass, and worms. There are only a few walkers over on this side of the prison, but there’s a huge cluster of them over by the front watchtower. They’re all pushing against the fence and actually making it  _move_ , which is extremely worrying.

“They only took out one cluster yesterday,” Carl begins, “Probably gonna need more people today… maybe we could help.”

“I got other plans,” Rick says, “Involving dirt and cucumbers; keeping people fed.” Which, that’s true; they do need to do more work on the cucumbers they planted yesterday, but still. Carl wants to help _protect_  the prison, not just grow fruit and vegetables. He also wants to stab all the walkers in the face, but that’s definitely not something his dad wants to hear.

“Well, if you don’t want to, maybe I could,” he says. Rick doesn't say anything, just looks down at the mulch in his hand. “Could I?”

“ _We_  have other plans.” Rick walks around him. “That’s what I should’ve said.”

Carl takes a moment to be disappointed and then follows his father to the pig pens. There’s no point in arguing; he knows that from experience. Carl wants to be angry but he knows that it’s his own fault; he knows why his father took his gun away and why he insists that they farm instead of doing other work. He knows it’s because he killed that boy from Woodbury; he knows it’s because Rick is trying to keep him away from the bad things that happen outside. He knows it’s for his own protection. He knows his father gets frustrated with him every time he asks. Carl doesn't want that.

“Dad,” he begins, hesitant. His father looks up at him from where he’s pouring the mulch into the tray for the pigs.

“I’m sorry,” Carl says. “I've been trying.” _I know I disappointed you_.

“Yeah, I know,” Rick says. “I’m proud.”

For once those words don’t make him feel any better. “Dad, when can I have my gun back?” he asks.

His father gives him a steady look and Carl looks down in submission. Rick’s silence is enough of an answer.

“Worms’ll give 'em some extra protein -” Rick’s attempt at changing the subject is interrupted by a gunshot from the prison, and as they turn around they hear one more.

“Stay close,” Rick says. Carl follows him out of the pig pen. He can hear Lizzie screaming for help.

“Cell blocks?” Maggie yells from her perch in the watch tower.

“I don’t know!” Rick yells. He turns back to Carl, “Get in the tower with Maggie; don’t argue. Go!” Carl closes the pig pen doors and by the time he’s turned back around his father is gone. He desperately wants to follow him but he starts running towards the watch tower instead. He’s almost there when he hears Michonne’s whistle. He immediately starts running down to the entrance to let her back in. More gunshots ring out in the prison.

There are some walkers inside when he opens the metal doors and he watches in horror as Michonne fights with two of them. He can’t just stand there and watch; he runs to the watch tower and grabs one of the rifles sitting against it, then sprints back to the entrance.

The scene he sees when he gets back terrifies him. The walkers are on Michonne; they’re too close, he can’t shoot. He's afraid if he did he might hit Michonne. Carl has to watch, helpless, as Michonne tries to push the walkers away. 

“Hold on!” Maggie yells.

A moment later Michonne trips over the rope connected to the prison doors. Carl is too scared to even shout, but when Michonne kicks one of the walkers off of her he aims and shoots it in the head, killing it. Only then does he realize that he disobeyed his father’s rule. He puts that thought out of his mind as Maggie comes down. She opens the inner door and they both run out to help. Carl takes Pegasus’s reigns and watches as Maggie shoots the second walker in the face before helping Michonne to her feet. More gunshots ring out in the prison.

Carl quickly leads Pegasus back to the stables and runs back to Maggie and Michonne, who are hobbling slowly back up to the prison.

“Are you okay?” Carl asks.

“I’m fine,” the alpha says shortly. She's clearly pissed off about something; probably that she almost got bit, Carl guesses. “What the hell is going on?”

“We don’t know,” Maggie answers.

Carl gets under Michonne’s other arm and they slowly make their way back to the prison. The gunshots have stopped by the time they pass the canteen, but Carl’s heart still pounds with worry. As they get closer Carl sees Daryl and a few others come outside across the grounds, but his father isn't with them. He tries to stay calm. 

It’s not until he sees Rick that he finally lets out a breath of relief. He runs to his father and throws his arms around him, not heeding his warning. He feels his father’s arms come up around his back even though he told Carl to stay away.  

“Dad, I’m sorry. I didn't see you come out,” Carl says, his voice muffled.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m fine,” Rick says. Carl wants to stay with his face buried in Rick’s chest, his father solid and safe in his arms, but Rick gently untangles himself. “Now back away.”

Confused, Carl moves back. “I had to use one of the guns by the gate,” he says, “I swear I didn't want to.”

For a moment Rick just looks at Carl helplessly, and Carl's gut churns with anxiety. 

“I was comin’ back. I fell,” Michonne explains. “They came out and helped me.”

Rick's expression changes to one of concern. “You all right?”

Michonne nods.

“What happened in there?” Maggie asks.

Rick is silent, and Carl watches as Chelsea from the Woodbury group walks by with a bundle in her arms, crying quietly.

“Patrick got sick last night, some kind of flu - it moves fast. We think he died and attacked the cell block,” Rick says. He bends down in front of Carl, who is staring at him with wide eyes, dumbstruck. “Look, I know - I know he was your friend and I’m sorry. He was a good kid. We lost a lot of good people.”

Carl doesn't understand. Patrick _died_? He’s dead?

“Glenn and your dad are okay, but they were in there. You shouldn't get too close to anyone who might have been exposed, least for a little while.”

Carl slowly moves away from his father and jogs back to Michonne, putting her arm over his shoulder once more.

“Carl. All of you,” Rick says.

Carl and Maggie help Michonne get inside. The two women send him worried looks; it was no secret that Patrick and Carl were friends. Carl himself hasn't quite grasped it yet. He went to see Patrick just last night; and sure, he was sick, but Carl didn't think he was sick enough to _die_.

They take Michonne to her cell and Maggie leaves to get Beth.

Carl sits next to Michonne on her bed; he can feel her looking at him with her careful gaze.

“Are you all right?” she asks him softly.

Carl sniffs and wipes his eyes. He’s not going to cry. “I saw Patrick last night,” he says, “I knew he was sick. Why didn't I say anything?” His voice cracks on the last word and he hides his face in his hands.

“It’s not your fault,” Michonne says. “Even if you had told someone, no one could have predicted that he would die. There was nothing we could do.”

Carl nods, his face still in his hands. “I was in Patrick’s cell. I could be sick, too,” he mumbles.

“Do you feel sick?” Michonne asks, worry coloring her tone. She doesn't move away, though.

Carl shakes his head. “No.” He’s not physically sick. Heartsick, maybe. A gentle hand rests on his shoulder and he breathes out shakily. He uncovers his face. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says. Losing Michonne on top of everything else… He wouldn't have been able to handle that.

He steals a quick hug from Michonne, who has become a true friend, and is surprised when she hugs him back. “Thanks,” he says, and she nods at him in understanding. He leaves when Beth comes with bandages for Michonne’s ankle.

His father is outside along with a lot of the others. Carl doesn't want to bother them, so he finds some scraps of wood, a hammer, nails, twine, and a bag of other tools - just anything he might need to make some wooden crosses. They’re going to need them.

He’s been working for a while when he hears someone come up behind him. He sets down his almost finished cross and looks to see that it’s Carol. He looks away again as she slowly walks closer. He hasn't spoken to her at all since story time.

“You know if Patrick was Catholic?” He asks her, showing her the cross; putting off the inevitable discussion he knows is coming.

“He said he was a practicing Atheist,” Carol replies, smiling a little.

Carl sighs and takes the cross apart. Figures.

“Did you tell your dad what you saw in the library yesterday?”  

“Nope,” Carl says. He picks up a smaller piece of wood. He can make something else for Patrick’s grave.

“Are you going to tell him?”

Carl doesn't reply.

“I have to keep teaching those kids to survive. You know that.”

“Did you tell their parents?” Carl asks.

“No.”

“Are you gonna tell them?” This time Carl looks up at Carol; he tries not to seem accusatory but probably fails.

“If I do, maybe after this they’ll understand but maybe they won’t, and I don’t want to take that risk.”

Carl nods to himself. “That’s between you and them,” he says.

Carol is silent for a moment. “No. It’s between you and me,” she says. “If you tell your dad he’ll tell them, and like I said, maybe they’ll understand, maybe they won’t.”

Carl understands that, he does, but, “I don’t want to lie to my dad,” he says.

“I’m not asking you to lie. I’m asking you not to say anything.”

Carol holds his gaze and Carl finally looks back down. He can’t promise her that he won’t tell his father because that would be a lie. The more Carl thought about it, the more important telling his father became. His father deserves to know. This is still his prison.

Carol sighs quietly and stands up from the table. “I’ll take these outside,” she says, gesturing to the crosses Carl has finished.

“Thanks,” he says, and then he’s alone again.

After he’s done with a few more crosses he cleans up and eats a late lunch. While he’s eating he decides he’ll go find his dad and tell him. He doesn't like to keep secrets, and maybe Rick won’t make a big deal out of it.

He meets Daryl on his way out of the kitchen. “Have you seen my dad?”

Daryl looks tired. “Yeah. By the pig pen.”

“Thanks.”

Carl heads outside. As he’s walking down to the pig pen he sees that his father is taking it apart, and that there are no pigs anymore. He doesn't want to know what happened to them.

As he gets closer he’s planning on greeting his father with a hug - he’s sure they could both use the comfort - but as he approaches the broken gate Rick says, “Not this time,” and Carl freezes like a deer caught in headlights. Then he nods and takes a small step back. It’s not until Rick comes closer that Carl sees the front of his shirt is soaked in blood.

“You think the pigs made him sick?” He asks. They both know who he’s talking about.

“Or,” Rick replies, “We made the pigs sick.” He throws more wood onto his pile. “I think we should stay away from Judy a while. Just in case.”

“Okay,” Carl agrees.

“I don’t like it, but -”

“I know, we have to protect her,” Carl finishes.

His father gives him a long look. “Yes we do,” he agrees.

Carl enjoys the moment of solidarity between them before he talks about what he came out here for.

“Hey dad,” Carl starts.

“Yeah.”

“Carol’s been teaching the kids how to use weapons.” He says it slowly, finally looking up at his father for the last few words. When Rick’s only reaction is shock Carl continues, “How to kill. Their parents don’t know and… she doesn't want you to know.” Carl can’t decipher exactly what emotion his father is feeling, but he knows it’s not anger, so he says, “I think you should let her. I know you’re gonna say it’s not up to you. But it can be.”

Rick looks away and pours some gasoline on his pile of wood. Carl doesn't know _what_  his father is thinking. Isn't he going to react at all? His father has the power to change things; he could be the one running this prison and no one would bat an eye. Carl doesn't understand _why_  Rick insists on being the farmer, on being left out of everything. He can’t help but look at his father accusingly, because he just doesn't _understand_.

“Dad?” he asks.

“Thank you for telling me,” Rick says.

“Yeah.” Carl can’t explain why he feels so disappointed. Maybe it’s because he’s trying to help but keeps getting brushed off.

Rick sets down the carton of gasoline and comes back to stand by Carl. “I won’t stop her,” he says. “I won’t say anything.” He lights a match and sets his pile of wood on fire. They watch it burn for a little while.

Carl knows he should be glad.  He got what he wanted, didn't he? Carol can keep teaching the kids how to survive. That’s good. But Carl just feels disappointed. Carol was purposefully keeping this secret from her alpha, and Rick is acting like he doesn't care, like it’s not a big deal, when it _is_. It really is.

“Carl,” Rick says, breaking Carl’s train of thought. Rick has moved away, and Carl moves closer to him, curious, as Rick kneels down and opens his blue tool box. Carl’s heart starts to beat faster as his father takes out something wrapped in cloth. Carl has a good idea of what it is, and his thoughts are confirmed as his gun is revealed. His father holds it out to him wordlessly.

Carl hesitates for just a moment before taking it from him. He doesn't know what to say. Even just a day ago he would have been ecstatic to get his gun back; but now, with everything that’s happened, he just feels numb. He watches as his father puts on his holster and checks his revolver for bullets.

His father lays his hand gently on Carl’s head, then trails it down to softly grip his neck, then shoulder, and Carl loses his breath. It feels so much like a caress, this gesture of affection. Carl doesn't know what to do about all these feelings; about how his body just _reacts_  to his alpha’s touch.

His father turns away. Carl both wants to yell at him and to hug him. He leaves instead of doing either. He has other things to do, less confusing things. He can check in with Michonne. He can help with anything Daryl is doing. He can help prepare the dinner. He has his comics to read.

He has his gun to clean.

...

As Carl walks away Rick wonders if giving him his gun back was the right decision. He’s not sure, but after today he wants Carl to be able to protect himself. He doesn't even want to think about what Carol has been doing, or about the fact that she felt the need to keep it a secret from him. He buries the sting of hurt deep within himself and decides to let it go. He has more important things to worry about anyway.

He looks down at himself and sees that his shirt is covered in blood from the pigs; his face probably is too. It feels like it is. He takes his shirt off and wipes his face with the relatively clean inside before tossing it into his fire to be burned with the wood.

He stands there for a moment, surveying the fences. They managed to draw the walkers away for a little while with the pigs, but they came right back and are pushing at another section of the fence. It will hold for now but not for long. He’ll make sure to keep an eye on it.

Rick knows he should go back inside. He should help with the dead, help clear out A Block so they can start to settle there. But he just stands there, shirtless, staring at his pile of burning wood without really seeing it. How could this have happened? They thought they were prepared for anything. They thought they were safe. They slept with their cell blocks open, no one on watch, protected from the outside but still completely vulnerable. How stupid they all were. How _naïve_. What happened in D could have easily happened in C if one of them had gotten sick and died during the night. And Rick knows it’s wrong, but he’s thankful, so thankful, that D was attacked instead of C; that the people most important to him have come out of this unscathed.

Rick will do whatever the council deems is best. They’ll get through this together. They have to. And once this problem is fixed, Rick can finally decide what to do about Carl. The problem isn't Carl himself, but rather the suppressants he’s taking and the effects they have on him. Rick can still clearly remember his conversation with Hershel just a few days after Carl’s heat.

Right after Carl’s heat Rick had told his family not to bother Carl about it. He said that he did only what he had to do, and that Carl would start on suppressants right away, and everything would go back to normal. They could just forget it ever happened. Some of his family seemed to agree (Daryl and Beth), while others looked skeptical (Hershel, Maggie, and Carol), while others seemed conflicted but mostly agreeable (Glenn and Michonne). In the end no one argued, and for that he was grateful.

Still, he knew that they talked about it in their council meetings, and he knew he wouldn't get off the hook so easily. That’s why he was not surprised when Hershel approached him a few days later. However, the first words out of Hershel’s mouth were shocking.

When Hershel said, “Carl shouldn't be on suppressants,” Rick had stared at him in surprise. That was the _last_  thing he expected Hershel to say. Before Rick could respond Hershel continued, “It’s not good for a boy his age to be on suppressants; they’ll stunt his growth, might even make him sick. Suppressants are only supposed to be used after the omega is mature; fully grown.”

“But without suppressants, Carl might go into heat again,” Rick said. The thought both terrified and excited him.

“Yes,” Hershel agreed. “The council has discussed it, and we've decided it would be best if Carl had a heat contract. There are plenty of alphas who would be willing -”

“No.”

The idea of it - of Carl in a _heat contract_  with another alpha - was so repulsive that Rick wasn't even going to think about it.

“Be reasonable, Rick,” Hershel said with his unending patience, “What other choices do we have?” Rick opened his mouth to reply, to suggest _anything_  else, but Hershel talked over him. “This is how it works. When omegas go into heat you set up a heat contract. Bethy had one; she spent her first few heats with an alpha named John. Of course, back then there were alphas who specialized in getting omegas through their first heats, but we’ll work with what we have. Either way, you need to take Carl off of those suppressants.”

Rick was floundering. “I could help him through -”

“No.” Hershel was adamant. “Maybe you think we can’t see it, but we can. We see the way your son reacts to you; the way you look at him. It’s not normal, Rick. We know that you did what you had to do to help your boy, given the circumstances, but that’s it. That’s the end. You can’t keep doing this.”

Rick felt like he had been gutted; stripped clean. “I understand,” he said, “Let me talk to Carl first.”

Hershel had nodded in agreement and that had been that. But now it’s almost two weeks later and Rick still hasn't talked to Carl, all for his own selfish reasons. He _likes_  how things are now. He knows his actions affect his son; he can smell the arousal on Carl every time he scent marks the omega’s neck. He sees the way Carl looks at him. He knows he shouldn't encourage these feeling in Carl, that they’re most likely an aftereffect from his heat. He knows he should allow Carl a chance to be with someone else, to have a chance at a normal relationship, but he’s selfish. He doesn't want his son to be with anyone else. Rick knows these aren't normal feelings to have, but his son is his whole world, and he feels very possessive of him. Protective.

Back in the present Rick finally heads back into the prison. He’ll talk to Carl after this whole fiasco. He will. Carl deserves to know about the suppressants and he deserves to have a choice. They’ll figure it out, no matter what Carl decides.


End file.
